Fictionista Workshop WitFit Writing Prompts
by vixen1836
Summary: Raw imagination, 24 hours, 1 prompt, and no editing. For Fictionista Workshop's Daily WitFit Prompt Series. Rated M, just in case.
1. Prompt: Abracadabra

Hi. So, this is my first entry for Fictionista Workshop's Daily WitFit. The word prompt series uses multimedia writing prompts with two levels of difficulty; one for those short on time, and a second for those that have more time to explore. Writers will then ruminate over their prompt and challenge their imagination to create an entry every day. This is my entry for December 2nd, 2009. No editing, so forgive me! This was just what my imagination created and what I wrote a little last night and before work this morning.

Word Prompt: ABRACADABRA

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**I do not own Twilight.**

**"Life may change, but it may fly not. Hope may vanish, but can die not. Truth be veiled, but still burneth; Love repulses, - but it returneth."**

**- Percy Bysshe Shelley**

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It was a gray Thursday morning. He was still taking the train, she on a short assignment placing her in his path.

This was before his recent success, before his latest acquisition; before his fortune was made. That morning he was so tired, up all night preparing the proposal that made him rich, wanting nothing more than to fall into his newspaper. For the most part he succeeded in ignoring his surroundings until a loud sigh from across the aisle caught his attention. Looking up from his paper, he saw her. A pretty girl had stepped on the train exasperated, anxious to find a seat, searching through her bag for something. She had long, dark hair and he couldn't look away.

That entire commute was spent pretending to read, their eyes meeting once and then occasionally across the aisle, though neither wanted to be rude.

She left as furiously as she entered, and although the whole exchange was relatively unremarkable, for that entire day he thought of the sighing girl, wondering what her name was, why she was so frazzled, where she lived, and where she worked. Pouring over the details he had gathered during that brief moment wasn't enough for him though, and by the end of his workday, he hoped she would return the next day.

That next morning he dressed his best, and headed to the train at the same time, waiting for her. Common sense demanded it was ridiculous to be so nervous when he didn't even know her, understanding that if she weren't on the train, he would be disappointed. He told himself he was just lonely, not knowing how right he was.

For the whole ride up to her previous entrance, he tapped his foot, skimming the sports section with excitement he hadn't felt in a long time. And when she entered the train, there was a pull and then a summons. They both could feel it. Attraction, curiosity. Electricity.

He hadn't asked a woman out since college, but the prospect of letting her get away pushed him to move. Brazenly, Edward took a chance and followed her off the train, stopping her with a polite, "excuse me" on the platform. Her eyes were so beautiful, shining with relief and curiosity as she accepted the invitation. His heart swelled, knowing right then he had made the right decision.

Weeks later, bare and naked on the floor of his apartment, she confessed to choosing his route by mistake, yet returned the next day just see him. Hoping that he would make a move.

That Sunday, they shared coffee and discovered that 'love at first sight' was exactly what they had felt, though not in the way most people expected. That moment was just the bait, that second meeting only pursued by mutual magnetism the catch. Neither of them ever looked back.

Running his thumb across her face soothed him, the simulation of touching familiar features was as comforting as anything could be. She hated this photograph, and now, more than anything, he was glad he had taken it. This was candid Bella; pure and beautiful.

Their vacation last summer was the first together, and after driving for miles with the wind and the sun, he had caught sight of an incredible field of colorful flowers. After marveling from the roadside, he insisted they stop and that she pose for a picture. He knew she hated taking pictures of herself, but was unwilling to barter. Their digital camera was new and he wanted to use it with her.

The sun was bright in the photo, highlighting her shiny hair as she sat in the field, dressed in a simple green tank top and shorts. Her eyes held the reproving look reserved for reluctant photographs, her frown almost humorous. But that wasn't where he focused. It was the way her eyes were so alive in the picture, with the focus lens capturing the corner of her lashes, so clear he could see little lines of previous laughter.

"Edward?" he heard a familiar voice.

His thumb stopped.

Slowly, his head lifted, his eyes blurry and unfocused on the sharp eyes of his sweet sister staring back at him. He was so tired.

"I'm sorry, but it's late and the investigators are back. It's time to get up," she whispered, her eyes flitting back and forth in concern.

For as long as she could remember, her big brother had been a pillar of strength. Seeing him this way broke her heart. He needed rest, but getting him up and to his room was no easy task. The last few nights he'd been more insistent on waiting for her. "Let's get you to your room," she tried again.

"Our room," Edward corrected, saddened anew by such an oversight. She was right, though and he knew it. It wouldn't be long now until sleep took him, but he wasn't ready yet. He wanted to stay and wait, remembering her and California flowers.

"I'm sorry." He heard Alice say, her previous slip forgotten already. He wanted to apologize for being so weak, but no words formed. His throat was dried from the sedatives.

_Tomorrow_, he promised himself, staring at the picture of her dark brown eyes. Tomorrow would be the day. Tomorrow he would find her. He could_ feel_ it.

And when she came back, he would tell her how beautiful she was, how this photograph, and her smile, and their memories kept him sane. There was so much he didn't tell her, so many moments not cherished properly. _  
_

_"No!" Bella screeched, tumbling onto the bed with the picture in her hand. He tackled her, landing on top of her with force, laughing breathlessly too. She giggled, vibrant and winded from running up the stairs._

_"You're faster than I thought you'd be," he said, settling comfortably between her legs, his hands clasping her wrists above her head. "I love that picture. Give it back," he insisted, staring at her mouth as she caught her breath. _

_The photograph she despised was held hostage, the delicate paper pinched between her two fingers, just barely in her grasp. He wanted it back, but she had a list of excuses for keeping it: the sun too harsh on her already pale complexion, the clothing she had worn for driving unflattering..._

_She was wrong in his opinion._

_"No," she smirked, daring him to try again._

_"Give it back."_

_"No..." she teased. He decided then that if she was taunting him, he would do the same. Knowing her weakness, he kissed her neck, breathing against her skin to make her shiver._

_"Edward..." she said, knowing his tactic would succeed. They kissed then, but he didn't go for the photograph, nor did she let go, enjoying the moment, neither surrendering yet._

_But soon, they were getting worked up, kissing between shuddering breaths, serious lust pushing his hips into hers. The way her soft body yielded to him was incredible; like nothing else._

_Slowly, he wrapped his fingers around both of her wrists, enjoying this control, pressing her more firmly into the bed._

_"Edward..." she whined, squirming forcefully. "I can't stand being pinned."_

_He laughed. "Too bad. Give me the picture or I'm not letting you up."_

_She sighed and stilled, giving up then, the photograph slipping from her fingers, and landing on the bed. He was victorious._

_"Thank you," he smiled, kissing her pout._

_"You're not taking it to work," she reminded him._

_"I'll do what I want," he chuckled. "It's mine now."_

_Snatching the photograph from the comforter, he kissed her throat again, relaxing her now, more focused on the way she felt underneath him. In her struggle, her shirt had slipped higher, her bare skin pressing warm, taut against his own. When she whispered his name, trailing her hands down his face lovingly, the __photograph was forgotten, ____groans and moans the only sounds in the empty bedroom. That night, in their new home scattered with unpacked boxes and bubble wrap, Edward made love to Bella. On their bed._

He had forgotten the photograph that night, finding it under the bed the morning after she didn't come home to him. Now, he would never let it go.

"It was our room... our bed. We..." He tried, the memory of her laugh crushing his chest with slicing sadness. Shaking his head to both forget and remember, he recalled the playful staccato of her joy, again and again, praying it was a sound he would hear once more.

Regret hit like clockwork, not diminished by repetition. He should've told her how beautiful she was, how happy she made him, how every morning since that first he thought of nothing but her. He hated that so much had gone unsaid, so many times he had fought for words, to tell her what she meant. And now that she was gone, all that he felt and saw seemed cut with sorrow. The deepest pain. The fear and understanding of lost chances never to be repeated.

"Edward... it's going to be alright," the familiar voice reassured. _Lies_, he thought. _Lies and empty promises._

The sedatives he was fighting brought on a wave of sleep, but he held his eyes open, staring into the abyss of her dark gaze.

_Come back to me, Bella,_ he pleaded silently, praying again that someone was listening.

_Wherever she was, was someone was pinning her?_ he feared, picturing it. Those horrible thoughts ripped Edward anew, the small cry he released at the thought of her dead a feeble response to unimaginable horror.

Soon enough, sullen tears from tired eyes fell; the kind that sap the soul. Staring at her face, he touched her photographic smile, the anguish and fear for her, his love for her, his agony over the unknown stabbing deeper than he could bear.

And for the thousandth time, he wanted to ask more questions, to think harder about what he knew, what he needed to know.

To recite again her schedule, their last conversation, her plans for the evening before meeting for dinner.

To just fucking _do_ something. Anything to bring her back.

But this time, he didn't. Couldn't. There was no magic wand, no abracadabra incantation to return her to him.

Confusion and grief were on the tip of his tongue, unable to find purchase in words too small for unfathomable pain.

The lack of sleep, the medication, all of it only made him worse, and when his sister's hand touched the clammy skin of his neck, he broke. With his head crumbled into his hands, the morbid horrors of worst nightmares emerged, and he truly cried for the first time since last Thursday; the night she vanished.

Deep and hard, breathless and defeated, he sobbed as one recurring thought tormented after another.

"Shh..." Alice tried in vain, wrapping her small arms around his much larger frame.

Nothing she said mattered and deep loss washed over him, like a tidal wave breaking ground, weakening his resolve to stay awake, to stay downstairs to wait for her, to touch her face. But this time, he didn't resist Alice or pretend to be stronger than he was. He let her hold him.

"We'll find her, Edward."

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**I hope you all liked it! If you're interested in the Daily prompts, you can check out the Fictionista Workshop site. I think December registration is active for one more day! Have a great day!**


	2. Prompt: Orange, Celestial

**Hi all. I've been on vacation and working on my edits for the novel **_**Black and White**_**, so I apologize for the delay. This is a blurb I wrote as part of Fictionista's WitFit Daily Prompt series. This is also another dual prompt for both 12.7.09 and 12.9.09. The word requirements were "celestial" and "orange" and the challenge was to write with raw imagination the very first thing you think upon. My brain pushed me to canon Edward sitting in the jungle during the events that take place in Stephenie Meyers' _New Moon_. Just a blurb, so please... if you find typos feel free to PM me (I'm the typo queen). And enjoy. **

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She was a celestial masterpiece; a ghost gliding across our forsaken aisle. In her slender, delicate arms a red bouquet was gripped between serenely anxious fingers; the perfect accoutrement to divine beauty.

It was our wedding day to be, though not to be. Behind the flowers my sister arranged in the vision she knew would haunt me Bella smiled, the curve of her pillowy lip more exquisite than I could bear. Leaving me breathless though I required no oxygen.

_D__ark lashes batted against her cheek._

___Her shy smile softened as a bloom of blood lit her face.._.

In a rush, her delicious aroma pushed through my senses. The catalyst for my retreat inundated my being with memories of her blood-scented warmth, her love. And again, a kaleidescope of emotion cascaded and turned inside me, taunting the eye of my mind, inspiring the same instant fits of need since leaving her behind.

My hands longed to reach, but only twitched toward the apparition.

Pain crushed through my control as details swam.

_Painted toes in jeweled shoes barely breaking the line of her dress, the column billowing behind her..._

_Dark curls trailing across her shoulders..._

"Bella..." I whispered to the surrounding forest, closing my eyes to hold her, reach for her. Wish for her. Catching nothing.

Surging frustration and grief swept through and once more I longed for death.

A macaw sounded in the distance and my eyes opened before the echo dimmed, my gaze immediately finding the blinding, orange sun. The vision of Bella's bliss weakened in the face of such a force, yet lingered still. As it would until this existence was over.

With that reminder my mind snapped, my memory struggling for submission, my eyes burning the sun in return.

Staring at the grandeur, the intensity of the rays pierced my sight, countering the blurred cacophony of remorse and love. I knew the longer I stared, the longer the break from my pain would last, but this was no fix. Only distraction. Long-term this practice was futile and without eternal effects, these slivers of time would only fade her into the recesses of my mind just enough for me to retain sanity.

One minute hit two and the heat blurred my layered vision, turning the fire into dark heat.

The macaw called out again, its cry echoing through the rain forest yet again. The annoyance of its sound sparked the urge to jump up and hunt it for the sake of taking action, but I did not move. Instead, I remained fixed on the light, searing recollections of her whispers and ghosts of impossible visions fading a little more when faced with the blaze. When faced with absolute duty of my choice.

___When she's gone, you follow... _My mind whispered to the bright light. 

I knew that reassurance alone would keep me existing until she was no more. And then, none of this would matter. The heavenly body that ruled the world and confined me to the shadows would lose its hold. Once the breath she drew under its rays ceased, the sun be the last thing I would feel. An abyss of heat before the sure pain of being shredded. Before the Volturi would allow secrets exposed.

Grimly, I smiled. That was my consolation, which was more than what I deserved.

Until then, I would endure resting assured that my damned fate would be preferred to eternal reaching. To the grasping for angelic hallucinations... to aching visions of my unclaimed bride...

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**Oh, Edward! But I hope you liked it. I'll be posting my other drabbles once I finish replying to all of your amazing reviews and can transfer them from my notebook. Again, I just wanted to say thanks for all of your thoughtful notes and reviews. I appreciate all of you for reading and sharing your feelings and thoughts.**


	3. Prompt: Inadequate, Part II of Prompt 1

**I do not own Twilight. **

**Moved from Fictionista Workshop Daily WitFit to this story 12.19.09.**

**I sincerely apologize that this has taken so long! Novel edits take priority, but I have more to post when I can transfer from my ridiculous notebook! **

**Just to clarify, these are "drabbles" or entries based on word prompts inspired by Fictionista Workshop's Daily WitFit challenge, which encourages writers to write every single day with word prompts and no editing. These are supposed to be unconnected, but because a story idea came out of my head on this one, I am following it utilizing the remaining prompts as best I can. It will be short and undeveloped, but hopefully fun for us both! So... thanks to your encouragement, this is a continuation of the prompt "Chapter 1: Abracadabra". Please read it first or this won't make sense. :) See any typos, please let me know! Especially you, UA. ;)**

**This prompt was for 12.13.09's prompt word was "inadequate". You can read more entries by replacing the {dot} with a real . here: http://bit{dot}ly/58cK2M**

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Her gift for premonition was a secret, an ignored flaw that had embarrassed Alice since she realized she was different. Throughout her youth, she fought against the invasion of the future, grasping at _now_ for dear life, refusing the images entry. For her entire adulthood, she'd successfully accomplished this, blinding her mind's eye with immediate distractions when visions pursued: a clicking pen, chores, cooking, cleaning or shopping. Anything to stop seeing…

It worked. Alice blinded her mind through sheer determination; she had not seen since the vision that changed her life left her hospitalized and parentless at the age of fourteen.

Until now, she believed the slow death of her gift was a blessing, an accomplishment in the darkest way as it silenced the evil that found traffic in her mind…

Alice dipped the tea bag in the hot water again, watching the clear liquid darken as she slowly closed her eyes.

At first, she got nothing.

And then nothing again until gradually an image of her hand moving above the cup appeared. With her eyes still closed, she could trace the white ceramic outline of the mug against the black marble of Bella's desk, seeing little flecks of gold and silver.

This was progress. Smiling to herself, the same sense of achievement that once swelled her chest and heart when feeling her gift fade emerged once more, this time in response to her success. Her mind was getting stronger.

Shifting her sight inch by inch, she travelled from the cup to the edge of the box of Bella's tea, all the way to a brown frame on the desk. She could hardly detect the wooden outline at first, the adjustment in her vision blurring the details. The picture was only a mosaic; blurred, confusing fragments of a whole picture.

But she knew the object: a frame with a photograph of Edward and Bella on their Caribbean vacation. Bella wore white shorts, her dark, windswept hair adorned with a pink flower. Both Bella and Alice's brother, Edward, were covered in sand from the knees down as the sunset washed the picture with color.

Alice loved this photograph. Edward never looked happier; Bella had never been more beautiful.

Briefly crushed by a snippet of despair, she pushed that feeling away, focusing harder, knowing without a doubt there was a reason for this resurrected talent. She was meant to find Bella before it was too late and there was no time for tears or fear. Only faith. She would do this; there was no option for failure and when Alice wasn't tending to her brother, she was practicing in Bella's office with things her friend touched all day.

Determination surged through Alice again at the thought of Bella in pain, remembering the image she had seen last night. After leading her drugged brother to bed and wiping his tears with her own shirt, she had come in here to sit amongst Bella's things and to cry. After thumbing through unimportant papers for a while, sadness overtook Alice and she reached out to her husband, Jasper.

When he had answered the telephone, distressed and worried over her, she explained she was running late, but he wanted to talk and so she sat. Jasper had a way of making Alice feel better, and she listened to his reassurance with tear-stained eyes, fingering Bella's discarded gum wrapper and favorite pen. Eventually, Jasper succeeded in making her laugh a little with jokes about his brother Emmett's attempt to build a porch in his backyard and she felt slightly better.

Exhausted and desperately fearful for her friend, Alice rose to leave, understanding that hope lay in waiting and trusting the investigators.

But when her fingers casually touched the back of Bella's chair, horror flashed behind her eyes.

_"Please…" Bella pleaded. Her hair was in her face. There was loud classical music and voices down a narrow hallway. Bella trembled, visibly terrified, stretching her un-cuffed hand to the other. Her wrist was swollen purple. Injured._

Confused and shocked, Alice had gasped in horror, giving a strangled cry before backing away from the chair.

The image was seared into her mind, instantly reversing years of denial and self-conditioning.

That was two days ago. Since then she'd been in the office alone, secretly touching Bella's things, upset that the chair netted no additional premonitions, but desperate to try. Alice only left to get Edward into bed, rationalizing her guilt by affirming her commitment to her secret mission. He wouldn't speak to her anyway, and it wasn't like she could tell him either, or anyone for that matter.

None of that mattered to Alice anyway. Bella was in danger, but she could save her. And she would.

Something was changing in their lives; something was moving and she could feel it, though she couldn't see it. Yet.

Breathing deeply through clenched teeth, Alice moved slowly to the cup and then to the tea box, watching her fingernail trace the ornate label. Eventually, the scattered fog of her mind coalesced, allowing her to follow instinct.

And then, for so much longer than she would ever have imagined possible, she _had it_. A cascade of images flitted through her mind, blurring the very edges of her vision while the rest remained focused, bringing her actions into mind a split second before they happened.

Tracing diligently, the first word on the box was complete, each little edge and loop precisely outlined.

But then it was dark and the mosaic returned. _Damnit_, she cursed herself inwardly for losing the vision. There was always this afternoon. After the investigators left in a few hours, she could get Edward's lunch and medication, allow him his time to pace in his office and retreat to this place.

Opening her eyes, she glanced at the clock. It was 7:00 am and the detectives would be there soon. Edward would want to be awake when they arrived, so she gave up for now.

Breathing deeply, she resumed her practice, walking to the stairs with the hot cup of Bella's favorite tea, resolute for what had just happened and what was still to come, seeing the steps in her mind before taking them.

*

_"When did you know?" she asked, chewing on her cherry stem, teasing him in more ways than one. Her breasts were nearly touching his chest, his hand tracing circles on her back._

_"I don't know," he lied, searching for words that weren't inadequate and ridiculous._

_"I knew when I loved you…" she countered, her eyes shaming him with absolution. "It was the Sunday we had coffee. You got out of your car in a rush, but a little old lady beat you to the door. You smiled and opened it, and even made small talk until she ordered."_

_Bella laughed at the memory fondly, but Edward stared at her in confusion, remembering that afternoon. For first-love epiphanies, that had to be lame. He didn't even know she'd arrived twenty minutes early, or that she was waiting there in the crowd, watching. And to make matters worse, he wasn't positive he loved her until weeks later. _

_"That was the first moment you knew you loved me?" he confirmed. _

_She nodded. "Pretty much. Before we even drank our coffee, I was yours."_

_"Of all the times we shared, that's when you knew?" _

_"It's different for women," she shrugged._

_Again with her veiled feminism, he thought. "How so?"_

_"We just know. It's like… a premonition." _

_"An instinct?" he clarified, trying to understand. If that was what she was saying, then it made sense, but also disproved her theory. Men felt instinctual urges. With the way her shirt exposed her cleavage, he was fighting the instinct to have her right then._

_"No. It's…" she started thoughtfully. "Have you ever had déjà vu?" _

_"Yes." _

_"It's like that. Like… the world just stopped for a second and skipped a beat and hit a target all at once… it's indefinable, but certain at the same time."_

_He liked that explanation. Now that he thought about it, that was exactly what it felt like. She was so smart. _

_"Men feel that, too," he said._

_"Not like we do," she murmured, making designs on the stem with her teeth. He wanted to tell her what he felt right then, that she was always so soft and smelled like flowers. That he loved her and wanted her to be his wife one day._

_ Twirling the red stem in circles around her finger, she said no more, as if her last remark had ended the discussion. Usually, he would not have let her win so easily, but he wasn't sure he wanted to be difficult this time. If she believed she had loved him first, why argue? Smiling, he decided no debate was in order. _

_"Hmm…" he rumbled in her ear, sliding the inside of his knee over her thigh. "Maybe I should show you what men feel," he teased, his nose now pressed against her neck, his erection automatic. _

_"I know what you feel," she said, breathy and already excited. _

_"Do you?" he wondered, kissing to her jaw, his fingers meeting the line of her bra. She moaned as his hands cupped her breast, the warmth of her skin radiating through her thin blouse._

_"Yes… it was our fifth date… when the waiter dropped that plate on our table and all over my dress and I laughed…" she whispered._

_His mouth stopped and so did his hand, recalling that moment. She had apologized for bumping the waiter, though it was the waiter's fault. Embarrassment had colored her face, but she'd smiled before laughing at herself._

_That was the night he slipped that dress from her shoulders, the night she let him make love to her. And she was right._

*

"Edward?"

He heard a whisper that wasn't Bella's.

"It's time to get up..." Silently, he opened his eyes, coming face-to-face with his worried sister. She looked older than she had yesterday and he was sure he did too; neither had slept much since Thursday.

He didn't want to rise. Truly, he didn't. But he would.

Forcing his body off the bed, fatigue and hollow fear weighed him down, but he used his arms to shift upright. Dizzy and empty, he felt as if he could die. He wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball and forget everything but her, but he wouldn't do that. Couldn't.

"What time is it?" he asked, knowing it was early morning.

"They'll be here soon," Alice said, handing him tea he ignored. He desperately wanted to see the detectives and hoped they'd have a lead today. Something, anything to work from.

"Are they still outside?" he asked, hoping the media had left last night, already knowing that wasn't the case.

"Yes," she answered, pulling his legs from the bed, helping him to sit and put his feet on the floor. He groaned, feeling the rage at their intrusion bubbling under the surface. More than anything, he wished he could take a shot at their cameras and take a few reporters with him.

"If you'd just talk, they'd probably leave," she whispered, her still-outstretched hand in his peripheral vision.

_How could she say that?_ He thought, burning with frustration.

"Talk?" he croaked, rubbing his face furiously, imagining the attempt once more. He had stood in front of those cameras on Sunday so they would leave; breaking down after the first stranger said her name. They'd already gotten enough from him and until they gave him either privacy or Bella, they would get no more.

"Don't get upset; try to think of it in a good way. The longer they're here, the more people will look for her, and the sooner she'll come home."

He sighed, seeing her logic, but hating it nonetheless. Alice took a seat next to him, softly adjusting the bed with her light weight.

"I brought you tea. Bella's favorite."

He glanced at the cup, seeing the swirling steam, smelling the berry scented flavor that reminded him of her. Now that she was gone, Edward would never forget that shopping trip from just a few weeks ago:

_"Get that one!" she insisted. _

_Edward rolled his eyes. "There's no difference between the generic and the brand," he argued, holding the box of 200 bags for the same price. "You're paying $2.00 for a pretty box?"_

_"I like my type, you like yours."_

_"You like expensive things," he teased her, though money was far from an issue. More than anything, he wanted to get a rise out of her._

_"You're cheap," she stated. He opened his mouth to retort, but shut it because she was moving, slithering in front of him, breaking his grip on the handle of the shopping cart. "I want that tea and it's only $2.00 more. You can't spend an extra $2.00 on me?" she asked, her big brown eyes overly dramatic. "If not, I can go out to the car and get my purse."_

_He wasn't even sure why they were arguing anymore. Of course he would buy it for her. _

_"You can have whatever you want," he said, mesmerized by how red her lips looked in the bright, fluorescent lights, bending to kiss her now that she was so close. His lips met hers and she replied with her tongue, his step forward bringing their bodies together. He groaned, pressing his sudden erection against her hip. _

_The sound of a throat clearing interrupted them and they turned, seeing an old woman frowning in the aisle._

"She did like it," Edward agreed, saddened again, realizing how childish he sounded.

He didn't care, though. Finally taking the cup, he sipped the hot liquid, swearing to God that if today were the day she came home, he would be forever grateful.

As he drank away the tension in his throat, emotion threatened tears over the opposite possibility. But before he could think on it further, his sister practically read his mind.

"We'll find her, Edward."

He nodded, pushing aside fears of the unfathomable alternative, knowing they were too much to even consider while sober. Jumping off the bed, he felt Alice's arms fall away, not realizing she'd been hugging him before then.

Her heart sank as he crossed the room, checking immediately for his phone. Edward had a feeling Bella would call and kept it in his pocket obsessively when it wasn't on the charger, along with a picture of Bella he couldn't be parted from.

The look on his face told her there was nothing there and without a word, he headed to the shower, phone in hand.

The instant he was gone she closed her eyes, feeling the energy in the room change with his departure.

Focusing, she searched, trying to determine if his attachment meant something, if somehow he knew she would call.

But Alice got nothing.

*

Detective Norris patiently navigated the Cullen driveway, passing the hedgerows and four frantic reporters, groggy but ready to question.

"Detective! Detective!" the fat one half-heartedly shouted, the other three letting her continue. "Any news on the whereabouts of Bella Swan? Have the FBI discovered anything new?"

_Discovered anything new. _The evil man inside wanted to grin, but he didn't. Instead, he ignored them and pressed the entry button at the gate. The reporter gave up, apparently considering it too early to badger.

Patiently he waited, irritated but thankful he had been assigned to this case. It was a stroke of luck beyond his wildest expectations; an exhilarating, bizarre set of events he'd still not fully processed. When they had originally devised their plan, he had intended to use his position with the bureau to monitor the progression of the investigation, to simply ensure they never got too close. Now, he was presiding over a case for a missing woman currently bound and captive by their design and ransom.

Without a word from the small speaker, the gate opened. He knew it was Mr. Cullen waiting for him, watching him enter, hoping he would have news. He wouldn't have none today, though. What a pity.

Sometimes he felt sorry for him, but even that compassion was dried up, checked in the face of his hate. Besides, he told himself, even _he_ didn't know the fate of the rich man's lover. Everything depended upon how the plan proceeded.

So as he did every morning since Thursday, the detective crossed the lawn to the doorway, recalling the inspiration for their revenge.

_Victoria Matthews was beautiful even in shock. With full lips and tears streaming down her face, she was a tragic masterpiece of pain. She was angelic in her dazed sorrow, still clutching her father's handkerchief though it was splattered with his blood._

_Her father, a 62-year old executive with a retirement ahead of him and a loving family had splattered his brains across his bookcase._

_"What happened, Mrs. Matthews?" Detective Norris pressed patiently, his rarely felt sympathy urging him to touch her. _

_"Edward Cullen happened," she suddenly snapped, a spark of rage in her dead eyes so startling he blinked._

Swallowing hard, Detective Norris hit the cobblestone pavement, heading up to the mansion with a skip in his step. _Bring on the beggin__g, Mr. Cullen_, he thought. _You fucking deserve it all._

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**I told you it ran away with itself! The outline is short, so I promise I'll finish this, but it will be really raw. Sadly, with no time to edit, the usual layers of revisions are removed and therefore so is the characterization and emotion. I hope you like it, though since I left you hanging! Thanks so much to each and every one of you for reviewing! You're all the best ever!**


	4. Prompt: Sea Salt, Part III of Prompt 1

**I do not own Twilight. **

**Happy Friday! So, by your request, I will continue this storyline with the prompts for WitFit, however since this was really confusing for some of you, I am posting this chapter here, but have moved the story over to it's own for future updates. Anything after this chapter revolving this storyline will be posted under Hope May Vanish. It's under my profile. What will remain under this story, Fictionista Workshop WitFit Prompts are the unconnected prompts for December's WitFit challenge.**

**So, here is the WitFit prompt for 12.14.09 "sea salt", and chapter 3 of what is now Hope May Vanish. Not to be all neurotic, but I wrote this in 2.5 hours and read through once and therefore this was very difficult for me to just let go, hence the purpose of the challenge. Let me say now that it's incredibly hard to just STOP rewriting. BAH! Just being honest. :) If you find ANY typos, please, please do not hesitate to contact me. They drive me crazy! I appreciate it more than you know.**

**WARNING: THIS IS RATED M. CONTAINS SUGGESTIONS OF VIOLENCE.**

* * *

"Detective Norris," Edward breathed in relief, a ghost of a smile on his face. Shaking hands vigorously, both men searched each other's expressions. "Anything new?"

The question was asked, though the answer was obvious. Edward's heart ached.

_Anything new._ Detective Norris smoothed his inner devil, stepping through the doorway of Edward Cullen's office, his heels thudding on the plush carpet. "No, sir. I'm sorry–"

"Do you think it's time to–" Edward began, cut off by Norris' hand.

"Bringing in external investigators at this point will only complicate the investigation. We have it under control, Mr. Cullen," he said, knowing his intentions. "The best thing for you to do is remain here and let us do our jobs."

Your helicopters and cadaver dogs will find nothing. Save your precious money, Detective Norris internally mocked.

Edward knew what he said was true, but frowned and crossed the room anyway, headed for the bay window he'd taken to staring out of. Detective Norris followed behind slightly, watching the man's shoulders heave with a silent sigh.

Soon, Edward was lost in thought as Detective Norris observed him, both men now staring into the abysmal forest at the property edge. With his hand on his forehead and his back turned, Edward fought the urge to scream in frustration, the inclination rising like bile in his throat. _Remain here._ Always the answer he never wanted to hear.

He wanted to let them do their jobs, but Edward had a feeling they were missing something. The dogs had tracked Bella's scent to the tree-line before losing her, motorcycle tracks leading north to the highway six miles in. Where did they take her? Where was she?

As Norris watched, Edward's thoughts wandered to his obsession: was she out there in his forest? Dead? Buried? Right in his backyard? No… he knew that wasn't true. She was still alive. He could feel it, he told himself. Partly because he believed he did and partly because the crushing horror of that question was impossible to bear, the idea pushing breath from his chest, this time in an exhale Norris could hear.

Several seconds of additional silence passed, the heavy quiet of two men thinking. It was moments like these that Norris felt a little sorry for him. But again, there was a part of him that enjoyed the control play. He'd rendered one of the most powerful businessmen in the state completely… powerless. The detective was enjoying this discomposure.

"I know this is hard for you," he said falsely, breaking the silence, taking one step toward Edward who remained still as a stone, peering with dead eyes into the trees. "Please trust that we're doing everything in our power."

Edward nodded, again knowing that was true. Both detectives leading the case had excellent credentials he'd verified for himself. Detective Norris seemed the detached type, but he was reassuring and professional, while his partner Detective Hale struck Edward as a no nonsense investigator. All things considered, he was thankful for them both.

Remembering Detective Hale brought her to Edward's mind.

"Where's Detective Hale?" Edward asked vacantly.

Detective Norris' stomach clenched, thinking of his new partner. He hated her almost as much as he disliked Mr. Cullen.

"She's analyzing the tapes from your security cameras."

"Oh…" Edward sighed, stuffing his hands in his pockets, still dazing, recalling their last dinner together though nothing encouraged that memory. It made him feel good. Having lost his parents so early and with Alice being so much younger, Edward had never had the experience of watching a woman cook for him, or take care of him. But Bella did and enthusiastically because she enjoyed it. She had been in the kitchen preparing their meal for nearly an hour while he'd wrapped up his workday. The domestic scene tugged at a place deep inside of him.

_"Why are you using this salt?" Edward asked, curious. _

_"What do you mean?"_

_"The granules are huge," Edward noted, shaking the bottle. _

_"It's sea salt." _

_"I can read that," he replied, glancing between her stern concentration and the bottle. She was stirring the spaghetti sauce with vigor, the red liquid bubbling. _

_"I prefer to cook with that," she answered. He liked that she had a system and ingredient preferences, even if he teased her about it._

_He smiled, though her determination to stir blinded her to his amusement. He had promised himself in that moment that one day, this kitchen would hers._

With a deep breath, regret hit him hard again and once more he wished he'd mustered the fucking courage, the tenacity to just ask her. He'd had the ring for so long, but the fear of her hesitation or worse… acquiescence out of guilt had kept him silent. They had only been dating six months.

"Mr. Cullen…" Detective Norris began, drawing Edward's attention back to their previous conversation. "My visit today was to touch base, but also to inform you that tonight there will be several hundred volunteers and police officials combing your property again. The temptation to leave your home and assist will be overwhelming, but I need your word that you'll remain inside."

Edward nodded blankly, tracing the tree-line from the window again, picturing the evil thief in his mind, wondering how they'd done it. Detective Hale and Norris both believed Edward's house was invaded by the perpetrators, stealing Bella away as she typed at her desk. Her shoes were still underneath, the askew mousepad the only indication of any struggle.

They took her quickly, out of his very house, out of the office she had just settled into.

Suddenly, Norris' phone rang, startling both men from the exchange. Edward glanced once at Norris' apologetic expression before returning to his fixation.

"Excuse me. It's Detective Hale."

Edward didn't respond, his thoughts returning to that same mix of worry and faith, to more memories of moments passed and lost.

Excusing himself, Norris quietly left the room, shutting the door softly behind him, flipping open his phone, irritated.

"Norris."

"James, I have something here you need to see," Detective Hale said urgently, sounding mesmerized. Norris' stomach dropped again.

"Can it wait?" he asked, testing.

"No. It can't."

*

The blindfold was disorienting, but she could sense the woman moving and watching her, the terrifying sense that a predator was near so profound she shivered from mortal danger. And once again Bella wondered what the woman looked like. Why she was doing this to her. She knew they were after Edward, but why?

"I know your type," she said, smirking, swiveling quickly in the chair Bella had felt with her foot. The motion, the fear, the anxiety of the woman's erratic movement made Bella tremble again. She was so cold, so scared. "You grew up poor. Working class. Married money to feel worthy of… whatever it is bitches like you feel worthy of. I used to taunt girls like you. I bet you were fat and ugly until your twenties, too."

Bella didn't respond, nor did she dare to correct the juvenile woman's wrong assumptions. Bella had never been fat or poor, though she'd never had money like Edward. She had worked hard for what she had, her chosen profession selected because she loved to teach, that passion trumping any vanity for material goods.

"Fucking speak!" the woman barked, grabbing Bella's tangled hair with sharp claws that made her yelp. Holding Bella's head stationary, Victoria moved closer, smelling Bella now, wondering if she should bathe her. That would be wild, she considered, imagining the silent woman trembling and naked. She would hose her down like a dog and take a picture for Edward Cullen, one she could send from the satellite phone once contact was made. Once the real fun began.

Victoria stared at Bella's upturned face curiously, wickedly relishing her revenge as Bella's mouth opened wider in fear, like a gaping fish out of water. Smiling, Victoria laughed at the helpless girl she would kill once she had her money, once her robbed estate was avenged. She decided Bella should know, to begin preparing for the inevitable.

"I'll kill you," Victoria stated, a streak of childish, sadistic pleasure passing through her at the sight of Bella's further trembling lip. Fear surged through Bella, adrenaline spiking her heart, the primal urge to flee danger making her captivity more painful. "Mr. White is a bit of a pussy. You wouldn't know it with the badge and the gun and the giant cock, but he is… I'll have to do it myself. And I will."

Before she could fear for her life, for the promise of death, the woman was touching Bella, running her sharp fingernail down her face, the grip on her hair tightening. Again, Bella tried to swallow, her throat sandpaper dry, the scratching sensation somehow suffocating.

"I bet he liked fucking you," the evil woman decided, petting Bella like a dog now, long fingers roaming. "I've seen him in his little power suit, so clearly compensating. I went to Yale with little boys like him. Playing big boy to get the trophy whore. The question is…" she continued, her grip not lessening, her finger trailing to Bella's collarbone now, poking strangely at the indentation. "Did _you_ like fucking _him_? Or did you pretend like most of us do…"

The woman's question inspired automatic, sweet memories of Edward making love to Bella, touching her the way he always did. The pit of her stomach ached for him, what he must be going through. The worry, the terror. And only once was their love making what one could consider _fucking_...

_"Bella," he gasped, the grip on her wrists tightening. _

_"Yes…" she moaned, feeling him move faster, giving into her request, pressing her back against the wooden porch. The blanket from the house wasn't under her anymore, only padding his knees from the brutal wood. She loved it, loved feeling the contrast; his soft, but firm body locking her against the hard surface. The pleasure and heat of him filling her took over, the tension in his arms increasing, straining with the task of giving her more._

_"I love you," he whispered, moving faster with his own admission, their hips smacking, and skin glistening. She groaned, the delicious satisfaction of his raw lust and subsequent determination sexier than anything she'd ever seen._

_"I love you," she managed, tightening her grip on his strong shoulders, feeling beautiful, feeling powerful. Her strong man, the quiet, loving man she wanted to marry was losing himself in her body. Losing himself to her touch._

_He moaned in response, his gradual increase a tempo so erotically perfect she struggled to breathe. Ducking his head down to her neck, she caught a glimpse of his face in pure, unrivaled ecstasy. More and more, he was letting go of his restraint, his eyes clenched tight, his full mouth whispering her name once more. Like a prayer._

_"Bella…"_

Clenching her eyes tighter to fight back tears, behind the blindfold she remembered that moment like it was yesterday, that one memory inspiring several more. Like vague hallucinations, moments of their time together pushed in and out, blurred and fleeting, painful and desperate. Bella wondered if she might be going crazy, if the deprivation of food and water were warping her mind. Increasingly her imagination had grown into something else entirely.

"Answer me!" the woman demanded through gritted teeth and hot breath on her cheek, but Bella refused, her composure faltering for just a moment before recovering. She would never answer, not because she was scared, but because there were no words. Even she had never understood why he loved her the way he did, why he wanted her exclusively. And the way he shook from quiet passion while moving inside of her, the way he cradled her head and stuttered shallow breaths in her ear when they made love – those pieces of him were hers only. Sacred memories.

Her love for him swelled her heart then, threatening to break her open, so sharp and drowning she could hardly stand it. Bella shuddered as the woman sighed in resignation, dropping her grip and groaning in annoyance. A few indefinable noises later and the woman's presence was suddenly far away again.

Behind the dark cloth a tear slipped from her covered eyes, absorbed by the material.

"I have ways of making you talk. We're just not there yet." The woman promised, the door audibly opening and slamming shut without another word. Once more, Bella was left cuffed and bound to a pole in a dank room that smelled of mold and stagnant water.

Like clockwork Beethoven began then; frantic strings a dark opening to the 5th Symphony she knew all too well now.

Pressing her lids together to maintain her strength, she was thankful for the mask now, thankful that bitch couldn't see her love or despair. Because deep down, Bella knew she would never feel Edward again.

* * *

**This was really dark, but I hope you liked this glimpse into the psychopathic jilted sorority girl that is Victoria. She's wicked in all the wrong ways, much like her canon companion. I just kept thinking of the actress that played her character speaking so hatefully, like a disassociated villain on a mission to taunt and retaliate. **


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